Some time ago, one of my favorite teams played in a championship game, and I treated my pregame anxieties, naturally, by trying to read them away on the internet. Once you've consumed enough predictions and projections, you can reliably convince yourself of anything. In the course of my reading, I found a long, heartfelt preview written by a fan of the other team. What bothered me about this preview was its focus on a set of virtues I thought my team had equal claim to. If you swapped out all the proper nouns, really, we felt the same way about what drove Our Guys and why they were the chosen ones. His preview turned out to be totally, hilariously wrong. Still, I emerged from this experience with new perspective on fandom: The only special thing about your team is that you like them.
For that reason, I won’t attempt a grand defense of the Detroit Tigers. I won’t say they’re America’s Team or anything like that. I never liked being told I had to root for an underdog. Nine-and-a-half games back of the third AL wild card spot a month ago, the Tigers are suddenly tied for the second spot as of Tuesday morning. No team has pitched better for the last two months, and they've done so with a ridiculous, shoestring rotation—guys I hadn't ever heard of before July. On Monday, they called up baseball’s best pitching prospect, and he'll come out of the bullpen for the stretch run, as a treat. But these days, everyone’s got a Jackson. Having watched all their games, I know the truth. I can’t pretend there’s anything more to the Tigers than the recent fact and pace of their winning.
I can tell you why I like them. I like them because their pitchers never walk anyone, and I hate walks. Walks make me so angry. If you trust your stuff so little that you won’t throw it in the zone, why are you even doing this? Why play baseball if you don’t believe you’re good? I’d rather give up solo home runs. I like them because they go first-to-third on singles. I like them because they don’t bunt much. They don’t play that coward’s game; they actually go up there trying to hit the baseball. If they strike out, at least they did so optimistically. I like them because they leg out triples, nine more than the next team, and I like the moment when we all realize it together: He’s thinking three! I like their outfield defense, the team’s truest weapon. I like how they turn doubles into outs, and triples into outs, and homers into outs, and pretty soon, that’s 27 outs. They do lots of things I don’t like, but I like them so much, I forgot what those things are.
I like them because they end that awful, pointless blob of time between the end of the workday and first pitch at 6:40 p.m. I like walking to games, and I especially like the dark walk home. I like watching the fielders wave their fingers at each other. Two outs, two outs. When it’s crowded in the outfield seats, I like the 200s on the third-base line, where the skyline reminds me just how gorgeous this city is. I like that skyline so much. I like crossing the ramp behind the batter’s eye, and I like dodging people’s selfies and photos with the centerfield statues, and I like singing the words on the Al Kaline plaque to myself until they no longer sound like words. A complete superstar who could hit, field, throw, and run with equal skill. Acompletesuperstarwhocould …
I like writing tigers win! in my scorebook and circling it with little flecks of ink—they kind of look like whiskers. I like that I’m well-adjusted enough not to mope when they lose, but I like not falling asleep when they win. I like seeing how much everyone’s wRC+ has gone up and I like finding the opposing broadcast’s calls on Baseball Savant—Dave Sims going silent, Rex Hudler muttering—and oh no, it’s 1 a.m. on a work night, but what does it matter anyway, what’s 1:30? What’s 2? I like their normal wins, their silly wins. I like a ninth-inning, five-run rally to beat the Dodgers. I like a go-ahead grand slam against the Padres, down to the last strike. I like Madduxing the Rockies and I like walking off the Yankees. I like that Andrés Muñoz hasn’t allowed a run in a month and a half, except now he has, and he’s allowed two, and the Tigers take the lead.
I like them because I went to eight other ballparks this year, and my favorite part, each time, was the out-of-town scoreboard. I like them because they’re the first team I ever liked. I don’t know how to like anyone else. If I ever watched another team with envy, I was just a tired parent at the playground. I don’t wish that quiet kid were mine; I only wish my kid were a tiny bit more polite. I like them for all the same reasons you like your team and don’t like mine, and for all the same reasons I don’t like and will never like yours. This year, more often than not, they have made me happy, and that’s all I ever wanted. What’s not to like?
